Resolutions
by november shivers
Summary: New Year's Eve before 1981. Remus has gone missing. Oneshot, slash.


**Title:** Resolutions  
**Pairing:** Sirius/Remus  
**Warnings:** Fluffy? Mild boykissing.  
**Summary:** I did this for jamesly at rssmallgifts on livejournal - the prompt was "New Year's".  
**Disclaimer:** I'm not getting paid for this.

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Ten minutes left until midnight, and Remus is no where to be found. This is a problem, Sirius thinks, because in all the years he's known him, Remus has _never _missed out on a New Year. This isn't counting first year, of course, because at that time Remus hadn't fully understood _why _you couldn't simply go to bed and wake up in a different year. But at eleven, sleep is understandable. At twenty-one, it's absurd.

Even at Grimmauld Place, New Years was something to celebrate. Probably because his parents always went out to socialize with Malfoys (or the few other families they approved of), while Sirius and Regulus were left in the care of their Uncle Alfred, who came to the house to teach them to start firecrackers and light fags until midnight - which seemed awfully late, at the time.

A last-minute resolution was always required - it was the Black way, and even Alfred was fond of some kind of purification, to improve oneself. Of course, at that age, Sirius' resolutions were mostly related to being kinder to Regulus or the house elves.

But he doesn't have time to make a resolution this year. The Tonks' small house is filled to the brim with the Order members and family friends, even Hogwarts professors - which Sirius at first found mildly alarming, but is getting more accustomed to with each glass of Firewhiskey. For the past hour, he's been having an illuminating discussion with Professor Trelawney about the end of the world.

Nine minutes until 1981 - a new decade, a different life. The New Year always means _promise_. But if the world is going to end, shouldn't he at least find Moony? Moony is knowledge and sensibility, and Sirius refuses to believe any of this world-ending business until he's heard it from him.

There's something fake and empty about this party, the hollow laughter and the nervous glances over shoulder. Maybe the fact that they're at war - and can one party really make that disappear? Or maybe it's something less philosophical, like the fact that Remus has _vanished._

"Three minutes!" James is standing right next to him, but he still feels the need to yell and slosh good deal of his Firewhiskey onto the carpet with this announcement. He starts to lean towards Sirius, but he quickly tilts him towards Lily (who quickly snatches the drink away from her husband, despite James' objections) and darts down the hallway before he loses what may be his one chance of escape.

The influence of Firewhiskey, Sirius has learned, can have very strange effects on the former Marauders. Peter goes strangely delusional, thinking he's good-looking, and throwing himself onto the nearest woman in a way that makes James' schoolboy crush on Evans seem chivalrous. Sirius spills secrets and becomes unnaturally ready to pick a fight with anyone who looks at Remus for more than half a second. James just acts somewhat like his usual self - except stupider, if that's possible.

Remus - he laughs at _everything_. But it's a joyful, free kind of laughter that Sirius cherishes. He doesn't duck his head or smile at the ground when he finds something funny, so Sirius can see his eyes crinkling, his dimples as he leans his head back, and it makes Sirius smile, too. When intoxicated, Remus goes limp and light and tumbles towards people, usually Sirius, which is probably one of the many reasons Sirius likes alcohol so much.

But Remus' other, more bizarre behaviour (that usually only emerges when he's really sloshed) is to simply go off and hide in peculiar places: cabinets, closets, or dark, small corners. If he tried hard enough, Sirius wouldn't be surprised to find him fitting himself in the Tonks' oven. But that probably wouldn't turn out very well.

Tonight, Remus is probably under a bed. But Sirius has no idea which door leads to a bedroom - and the main hall is long and narrow, for such a small cottage. Sirius starts turning doorknobs.

Andromeda obviously does not share her sisters' compulsive cleanliness, and neither does Ted. The house is clean enough for a party, but in their own, private living space, everything is a wreck. Maybe that's just what having a child does to you. Sirius has always been here a few times before, enough to know where the toilet is and where the kitchen is, but half of the doors are still a mystery, a maze.

But if anyone can find Remus, it's Sirius. He likes to call this "canine instinct". Remus ("You _do _know by now there's nothing to all that _enhanced senses_ silliness, don't you?"), does not.

Sometimes Remus doesn't like to be found at all. Hopefully, this is not one of those occasions.

Apparently, every room in the Tonks' household needs a real Christmas tree, including their daughter's nursery. Apparently, said Christmas trees, and all of their Christmas decorations, stay up throughout December. Lopsided wreaths and sprigs of mistletoe are strung haphazardly amongst the shelves of toys, and Sirius swiftly starts to close the second door when he hears a faint murmuring. But isn't Nymphadora staying with Ted's parents tonight, and isn't her murmuring a good deal more high-pitched than that?

"Remus?" he whispers. He fumbles unsuccessfully for the light switch, and nearly trips over a colouring book. In the dim glow of an over-decorated Christmas tree, he can faintly see a man-shaped lump beneath the branches.

"G'way." The words are ridiculously slurred: it's Moony.

There aren't any presents left under this tree, only pine needles and Remus, spread across the crinkling plastic sheet. It takes a great deal of effort to battle the branches and lie next to him, and by the time he manages it, twice the amount of needles have sprinkled over both of them. Everything smells like Christmas, and bristling branches scrape roughly across his cheek.

Remus, at least, looks quite comfortable, as if this is a perfectly acceptable place to be resting. "How'd _you _get here?"

They're in a sea, a sea of pine and branches, and the Christmas lights flash pale colours across Remus' skin every few seconds: blue, yellow, red blueyellowred. Sirius grins.

"Did you know, Sin-Sinstra is saying the - the world's supposed to end in 1981?" he asks, "That's in five minutes, Moony. And there are charts about it and everything. It's all in the stars."

"Professor Trelawney says alotsa things," Despite the slurring, Remus manages to raise his eyebrows in a wry, and very Moonyish, look. Sirius thinks that, even drunk, Remus is still very, very smart. Maybe he isn't even as drunk as he seems.

"I like to call it, what, the Trelawney Persuasion - wait."

"No, that's what I call it," Sirius corrects. "I call it the Trelawney Persuasion."

Remus frowns and ponders this for a moment. Maybe he _is_ rather drunk. "Oh - yes. _You_ call it the Trelawney Persuasion." Remus giggles, but Sirius thinks it sounded a good deal wittier when he was at Hogwarts.

Remus' shirt is half-untucked, and when he stretches to pull back a bothersome branch, Sirius' fingers twitch toward pale, scarred flesh.

"But _if_, if the world was going to end," Sirius asks suddenly, clearing his throat, "What would you do?"

He misses this. _This _- it means lots of things. This is the pressing loss of breath when he glances at Remus, the hollow emptiness in his absence - and a hand touching his (_don't worry_). Now he misses that; now he can't breathe at all.

Slender, half-curled fingers, and Remus' head is tilted to the left in echo of how he sleeps. The glow lights his eyelashes - long, fair, and Remus hates them - a pale yellow blinks to red. There is a spy in the order, Dumbledore says, but no one believes it anyway. Does it really matter at all?

There are as many constrictions in the real world as there are within Hogwarts' walls, but now he can see the way the world is collapsing around him like he's seeing through glass.

Sirius' hand brushes by Remus' thigh (the soft, ragged corduroy), and he wonders what the difference is between "taking advantage" and "a mistake". But how can Remus blame him? These things happen, sometimes, and he always tries to explain, but it doesn't ever really did work out, and he hates to see Remus' frozen eyes. He pulls his hand back and plucks a stray pine needle from the ground.

Next year - there's always the possibility of better, better, and Sirius is trying very hard to be optimistic. Sharing a flat is supposed to make things better.

Remus isn't ever optimistic. He's quiet, pensive, and Sirius is starting to think he doesn't know what he's thinking anymore.

"I would-" Remus starts, "Do you mean immediately?"

"Yes," Sirius says, when he realises that Remus is finally answering the question, "Right after the countdown. When the world explodes."

"I would," Remus hesitates, glancing towards him with furrowed, concentrating eyebrows. "Try to find you - or, or James-"

"Well, I'm here," Sirius says.

"Yes, you, and then James - and we'd probably tell everyone to try to find a bomb shelter," Remus ponders, which hadn't really been what Sirius meant at all.

And Remus knows it.

Remus Lupin is, in fact, the most frustrating person in the world.

"If the world was going to end," Sirius repeats, "I'd just, I'd kiss you." He swallows, "Again," he adds. That would make a good resolution, he thinks.

_In 1981, I resolve to kiss Remus Lupin a lot more often…_

"Are we even -" Remus starts, but then his eyes dart downwards, and Sirius realises that he's looking at his watch, and after that, they don't meet eyes at all.

"We have… one minute," Sirius points out.

"Fifty-nine seconds!" he hears someone outside yelling, "Fifty-eight! Fifty-sev - Ow!"

The room is a chamber of silence; the branches are their shields. Sound outside grows louder and the countdown begins - Sirius can't stand it, he edges forward.

They're safe, here, and Sirius threads his fingers through Remus' hair, extracting tiny needles with every touch, and it doesn't matter if the sky's alighting because they have colourful bulbs and a sea of pine.

"Happy New Year," Sirius whispers.

"The world hasn't ended." Remus smiles lazily, and Sirius turns his fingers under Remus' collar - even here, he insists on dressing so nicely. "Yet."

"What a disappointment."

"Maybe next year, then. Or in…2000. You know, they say -"

"2000 is too far away to worry about. Besides, no one believes that, anyway."

Remus nods, and Sirius watches his lips tighten as he breathes shakily and avoids his gaze. He has no idea what he's thinking. Remus is the type to make resolutions about working harder and sleeping less, and he highly doubts they would have anything to do with _more kissing_.

It still feels like 1980, though, and Sirius can't help but think he still has a chance.

"I think I'm going to kiss you anyway."

Next year, he hopes, will be better - will be just like this.

_Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
And never brought to mind?  
Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
And days of old long past._


End file.
